The raven' s bladder came apart in my hand, into three pieces it fell, not four, three. I am plagued with the question. The winds, the seas, the hollowed earth, the fireplace, all say the same name.. that unutterable name, spoken by the world to taunt me.
It shall be vanquished. My enemies gather, the words spoken to me.. What of the Dragon blood? Her enemies are also my enemies, who are they? Everyone it seems..
Sinister and vague she said. Both are true, my methods are not the same as others. Not Fraxxan, nor the elven mage. My blood holds power, many can sense it, many more see only the surface.

Liars, the lot of them. Opalgut lost the sword and his hand. "I had to let her," he says. The Seer, revealing that which she should not. The name I thought was my progenitor' s was nothing but my would-be captor's.
Only Penn remains. Asks me to trust him. How could I? Yet also, how can I not?

Fought lots of werewolves. Many, many wolves. Nearly died. Got a scar. Constant reminder I need to get better. Penn saved me. he is back in the Militia. Went with that odd elf that was there that time. He is a part of the House of the Dead. And a cat woman that is not a lycan. Someone said she was part demon. That would be bad. Demons are the worst of the bad ones. Devils at least follow rules.
That fire dwarf was there too. And the bard that can change into animals. And the new Militia mage.

So much has happened today, and yet I feel so alive! I look in the mirror now and my face, it just looks better. It is not just my outer appearance that has been improved my knowledge as well has increased. I believe I can that helmet off Penn now, no matter what. Penn. He's mine now. Forever. He will do what I tell him, no matter what. He will help become the best, the strongest. I will RISE. They will know that despite my beginnings I will be their leader. One day.

SO LONG. SO CLOOOSE! To feed! To hunt to KILL! The little rat I see him so often, so hungry! So hungry...
I starve! I must EAT! I MUST EAT HIM!!
The elf resists, who is she to resist?! This is mine ALL MINE! She walks and I dream, she talks and I scream! But I will walk and SHE WILL SCREAM! I will eat up all her dreams! AawwwooooOOooo!

The humans are cowardly. Fear the unknown. Even the witch surprises me with her fear of destruction. I have what was requested. It is clear I will be welcome.
I will inspect their tribal ground. They have potential to strike far and wide, and grow ever bigger. Ilneval himself must see the prize.
Only the shaman will have answers. He is clever, but One-Eye sees all and he must know that.

Subject Three:
Race: Half-Orc
Parasite Species: Unconfirmed Occulus
Age: -
Height: -
Weight: -
Build: Athletic. Often takes on the forms of animals.
Personality: Simplistic, gentle
Affiliation: Friend of Iruna the Minstrel, no official affiliations.
Relationship: Partially cooperative.
Existing Health Conditions: -
Observations:
1st of Marpenoth 1397DR - Discovered that the subject's eye has been filled or replaced with a parasite similar to Occulus parasite available to me. Spits ooze, although uncertain of results. Potentially causes disease as necklace reacted in defence. Parasite causes pain in subject's head and subject feels squirming inside skull. Subject has described the parasite being implanted after being defeated by a mindflayer.

He manipulated me! He was playing me all along...
More decay and rot within my pack, I must remember not to pack perishables.
The wolf followed me, smelling the meat within my pack. She is interested in the Moonshae beyond the door.

零 (Rei) - The chill touch of the void
The path of 100 is complete, and so I gathered my friends and allies to make the offering to the Judges of the Dead. We cleared the great graveyard and once we had, I laid out the offerings. Everything in threes, one for each of the divines of the grave. I sealed the ritual with three holy blades and the challenge was issued. Undead rose from all over the field, shambling, charging, clawing to destroy the circle. Twice the undead broke the line, but the sorceress Beilia repaired the link with her powers of winter. The snow and hail smashed against the undead like the wind from a dragon's wings. Their pace slowed and winter, joined forces with death to put an end to the rotting army. With the undead corpses numbering in the dozens, The ritual began to consume the offerings and a cold, unnatural darkness took the land. From the very darkness a powerful creature rose. A large, looming, master of the shadows. It offered to spare me, if I allowed it a chance to taste of the offerings meant for the judges of death. I refused, and challenged it to single combat, it loomed, a servant of the Shadow of Murder wishing to grow stronger, reclaim it's place among the gods. It was reaped.
I returned to the circle, now brimming with power, the very fog of the fugue laying tight to the ground. I offered up the souls of 100 I had promised at journey's start, and from the fog rose the chill hand of death, the reaper of souls. It's shadowy robes were empty, save for the fog of the fugue and the piercing red eyes. It claimed the souls and bid it's empty hood in approval, and then, the blade I had carried since the start of this path, fell into dust. A voice in the depths of my soul telling me I would need it no longer, the path of training is over, it is time, for the path of mastery.
The reaper left us, a feeling of having been touched by death itself lingered over everyone. The circle faded, the mist of the fugue coalesced into a solid form, a blade, white as bleached bone and emanating the same dread feeling of the reaper's scythe. The grass in the circle was left brown, dead, a patch of the world touched by the void. I told hold of the blade, the blade with the handle that fits perfectly in my hand, that jumps to life when I will it to. A blade I feel as if I have known like an old friend, long lost. It whispers to me in the language of my homeland. It's name is Rei... Zero in the language of the West. Zero, the absolute nothingness, the null, the void, the embrace of the end of everything. Together, we will reap those who do not belong in the land of the living and send their souls teeming in a river to the crystal spire, the throne of bone.
I began my journey a failed Bushi in training. A warrior in service to an unworthy Shogun. I lost my master, my path and my homeland. Today, I have risen as a Samurai as I never thought I would. Though not a Samurai in service to a shogun or emperor, but one in service to Death itself.

Vow of Retribution
We cannot always stop Evil. It is as clever, as fast and as resourceful as any of us.
It is a great burden to see its defilements upon the land and wonder how you might have stopped it.
But from Waterdeep to Kara-Tur, no victory of the Dark Powers has been left uncontested.
Nor shall you let it be.
If the Divine will not answer, you will.
The scene plays out before my mind time and again.
The forest at night.
The glow in the distance.
The focus in her eyes, her voice commanding, justified, rightous.
And yet in action, it was something far darker controlling her.
In pursuit of retribution, she went too far.
But for all that, she was driven by Vengeance. It was cruel and it was evil, but Vengeance it was.
I know that my intervention was right by my vows made before il Dama, but I cannot say I am so certain it was right by the creed of Hoar.
But Evil cannot be fought with Evil.
There is no poetry in its continuation.
Only the corruption of the rightous, and extinguished promise.

Things have changed much in the last month. The Dark War is over, now there is peace in Northern Cormyr. The spawn is gone, the lake shrunk back to its normal size. I have not sailed in months now and the feeling is dreadful. Even the Starwater George is not as deep as it used to be. This has caused some issues with my craft. I've yet to find a dire crocodile on land. My best chance is the depth of the underdark. I will continue to explore the newly changed lands. Perhaps I'll find something worth staying here.
This new positions is... well. Hopefully a flexible one.Otherwise, I suppose retirement is a possibility. Or with some luck, a transfer back to the Navy. I do not wish to be some spokesperson for the Crown. I am not skilled at it. I've learned to lead a few men and deal with adventurers, but to make deals and alliances in the name of the Cormyr, no. I know my own limitations. Perhaps, however, my skills will still be of used in this Emissary position. The true meaning of Pathfinder may yet come out of this. We shall see.

Dear Journal,
Today was another good day. I had an early morning sparring session with Kenpachi. A fighter that never ceases to amaze me with his skill. The first time we sparred, he bested me. Not today.
Then, I traveled to the Underdark to mine some iron ore. My stocks are running a bit low and I need to forge myself a new warhammer.
Unfortunately, some Duergar got sassy and I had to put them in their place.
After a little mining, I set back to the city. On the way, I stopped by a cemetery.
The locals there were friendly. They showed me their magic, and I showed them my hammer.
Until tomorrow,
Angus

Morning (Flamerule 2)
I'm against a wall with the ratmen investigation. The lead on an X Treswill of the Enclave is the best I've had yet. But, I may have played my hand too soon. Inexperience on my part. X Treswill might not be the name of anyone that even exists. Magus Namik seemed to believe he did, but it's hard to tell when he's being upfront and when he's plotting.
I'm going to have to find a lycan in town willing to bluff this X Treswill into revealing himself. Unfortunately, lycans and the militia have a long history of not getting along. Maybe Lord Bhaliir's wererat friend... but I haven't seen him in quite some time.
Day (Flamerule 2)
Orwell and I are in business. I decided to invest 400 gold coins per day into his operation in exchange for a 35% return on any profits he made. It's my hope that over the next several months, the profits from his business exceed expectations and my return amounts to more than the bargained stipend.
I'm a terrible investor. I know this. Frankly, I'm asking for trouble in this arrangement. However, a Waukeen faithful blessed by Waukeen with the power to heal... he must be doing something right. Maybe I'll lose a lot of gold in this process. Maybe I'll retire by the time I'm 50.
Evening (Flamerule 2)
I'm certain that Larry is trying to get me into mischief. Last night, as we set out to rescue some innocents from the clutches of orcs and bandits, he continually stated that he killed a Thayan. He knows that I've been investigating a case involving Thay. I'm not sure if he wants me to inquire further into his claims, or he's merely boasting.
He presented me with a Thayan rod of some kind as proof to his claims. I don't feel compelled to arrest him as I have no proof beyond his bloviating, and adventurers are always boasting their accomplishments, fictional or not.

[The Epistles of Light - The Righteous Words of the Epistles of Light as given to us by the RIGHTEOUS ANGEL, SARIEL]
Bound by light and chains,
Lifted up high upon gentle slopes,
Ensuring only holy gains,
As the Holy Warrior holds off wicked Strokes.
Gaze to the east and the rising sun,
Remain vigilant facing west and the setting light,
The fight against evil is never done,
Nor is the conflict with everlasting night.
Mankind shall repent it's sin,
Bound by chains of service,
They shall find only light again,
Of this, all holy things are certain.
Crusade on, O'warrior
There shall be a just reward
Struggle onwards.
The fight is never done.

[Continued from the last post]
Tears. She was always crying now. What was it with Arabel causing her to mourn so much? How could you lose so many things in such a specific place? In all her travels, she hadn’t felt this alone since her parents were taken from her. She hadn’t felt this empty.. This heart broken. She still had the love of her life, and yet.. Somehow, here she was. Again. Standing in front of a grave. Again. Wishing for the life of a loved one to come back.
Her memory flickered to the image of Esolen and her other friend, Angelo.. Standing next to Manzahar and the rest of the Clar Bandans. Beside her, Lord Bhaliir in full battle gear. On her right, Evander with his falchion, standing proudly. And in her hands, her scimitar and shield. Around them, their friends and fellow adventurers were warded and buffed to the teeth. In front of them, the opposing Clar Bandan faction menacingly stood quiet, already prepared for battle.
There was little time lost as the two sides clashed. She ran straight for them. She ran straight for Esolen and Angelo. As did her comerades. Greyhalo turned on the other Bandan’s and started pummeling Eso as Daxx and Val went after Angelo..
“I’M SORRY ANGELO! BUT FECK YOU!”
The tiefling was no match for them. They ended him quickly. Her heart turned cold as the tiefling’s body fell to the floor. Her eyes centered on Eso. He was on his knees.
“SORRY ESO! BUT GOTTA KILL YOU TO!” Greyhalo was yelling.
“FECK!” Esolen screamed in pain as Greyhalo held him on his knees, her hand on his throat. She stabbed him in the side.
No. He was hers to kill. It was her responsibility. Valeria’s vision blurred as she ran towards them. Her hands gripped her scimitar tightly and screamed as she jumped at the two, her scimitar poised for Eso’s neck..
“I’M NOT SORRY ESO!”
Her eyes opened as she ushered the memory away. Her hand gripped her scimitar as she looked down at the grave in front of her. She had a small, metal box. Inside, some of his blood, his old hat he used to always wear, and a few other items she managed to take from his corpse before the island sunk. Her hands shook gently as she stared down at what was left of him. What was left of Felkyr Esolen. Her eyebrows knit together as a soft sob escaped her lips,
“Why did you have to do this?.. You should have listened to me.” She slowly bent and dropped to her knees, her tear streaked face leaning to rest against the box. It even smelled like him. Her heart cracked, again. “Why didn’t you just listen to me..” Her voice trembled, “Do you remember, when we sat in Shylocks? When we murmured and whispered, and shared drinks? - Do you remember, picking my ass off the ground?.. Do you- you remember..”
Her voice died out as her shoulders dropped. The glade around her was silent. She’d found her way deep into the forest just outside of old town. No one would come here. No one would disturb the grave. She could almost hear his laugh. Or see the glint of his gem eye.
Valeria set the box on her lap.
“You were my friend, from the moment I first met you.” She started softly, talking to the box, “You acted so offstandish. You put up a wall. You did your best to push me away.. But I think you knew it too. That I was t-too damn stubborn. Too stubborn to take your moody no.” She chuckled bittersweetly as she rubs her tears away, “You didn’t want me to be close to you. Because I was a ‘good two-shoes do gooder.’” The woman pauses, “This is one hell of a eulogy.”
She blinks her eyes quickly a few times and glances up at the sky. Light was starting to fill it, signalling the rise of the morning sun. She’d been here all night, hadn’t she?”
“Remember when we fought, like it was some sort of silly game? Throwing spells in old town’s streets at each other? And then Lord Bhaliir j-just showed up and kicked yer sorry arse?” She breaks into something between laughter and crying, seemingly okay to show her feelings in the solitude of the forest.
“Why couldn’t you drop this? Why couldn’t we go back to that?..” Letting out a sigh she leans forward and gently sets the box down in the hole. To her left, a bottle of half-drunk vodka and a shot glass. To which she reached for now. Pouring herself a shot, and drinking.
“It’s over, isn’t it?” Her eyes peeled away from the grave and looked into the gloomy darkness of the forest, “You’re not coming back...” Glancing down at the glass, she sighed.
“I never thought I’d have to bury anyone after Mom and Dad. So.. Feck you, for being the first to make me do this, Eso. How could you not see? That bitch that you call your god used you. Those visions you received were nothing more than signs to get you to harm everyone that loved you. And in the end, she took you away from us.. And made herself stronger. She was never going to bring your family back. And I told you as much.” The warrior inhaled sharply as she poured herself another shot, her hand shaking, “You could have lived.. You could have been redeemed... You could have still been here. But now she’s got you. And there is nothing I can do, to save you, you stupid idiot.”
“You dumb, no good idiot..” The glass and the bottle were set to the side as she moved to bury the box. The grave was shallow. It needed to be deep. No animal would come looking for a nice meal, “I loved you. We all loved you. It should have been enough..”
“You ended up breaking out hearts. You became her. How are you the demon when you did nothing but mimic Clar Banda herself?”
Gently, she stood. From her holster, she withdraws an angel wing scimitar. The very same weapon Eso used to threaten her. She settled her gaze on it for a few quiet minutes before stepping forward and plunging it deep into the ground in front of the gravestone she’d carved.
“What was it all for, Felkyr?.. It was for nothing. Because now you’re gone. And I’m burying your sorry hide in secret. Because you’re a criminal of the king.” Her lips pursed tightly,
“You can’t blame me for scolding you like this. You never gave me the chance to do it before.. .” She places her hand over her heart and closes her eyes.
“I lied that day. I was sorry... I miss you.”
“ And maybe it’s foolish to want you back...”
“Maybe this was fated... Maybe you were supposed to be the demon that dies... I just wish it had ended another way.”
“Rest in peace, Eso.”

Rasp.
Rose passed the whetstone down her sword again, listening to the sound that it made against the chilly metal. Steel needed sharpening, she thought morosely, but enchanted blades should not need their edges cared for. Particularly, swords that chilled to the touch should not need a living hand to tend them, and even wearing a glove she could feel the icy bite and see her breath in the air despite the claustrophobic warmth of the cheap, dirty lodgings. That might have been an unkind estimation of her living situation, but something about sharpening Grasp always put her in a foul mood.
No, not just something; memories put Rose in a foul mood. She looked up at the rickety door of another bunkroom that might as well have been the sister of any of the other various barracks and stay-houses she had graced with her presence before, and tried to put the smell of blood out of her nostrils. Old blood, new blood, and fresh death which smelled like shit. Death was an unkind mistress to the body after the spirit had gone. Initially, they would excrete. Then the bacteria in their guts would start eating them from the inside, the gas would build up, and the corpses would bloat. Further than that, and things got uglier.
And she had chosen to stay in the heart of it. At least the screaming had stopped a while ago. Undead constructs had already set about cleaning up the mess. Rose assumed that they must have been dragged out of the sewers because it seemed to her like the runny flesh and pale expressions had been those of drowned men. After rising to see what the scraping sounds had been, Rose had shut the door on them and let them continue their work. They weren't hers. She didn't command them. And someone needed to clean up the blood, since that someone was not, under any circumstances, going to be the Dread Inquisitor Renarde, last of the Forgotten House, and probably - if she could manage it - the faith's new leader. So she had gone back to her room without comment and shut the door and sat down and drew out Grasp, because Grasp helped her think. Something about the touch of the freezing iron cleared her thoughts, like jumping into ice water.
She looked down at the sword. She drew the stone against the edge, again.
Rasp.
Her teeth clicked together. She stopped to work the chill out of her hands again, and failing, she tucked them beneath her thick shirt. With Grasp leaning on the edge of the bench beside her and her hands safely freezing her armpits for her, she stared at the wall and tried to remember the last time she had been stuck in the center of a charnal house. Never, actually. A clinic? No. Perhaps the ritual that had brought her into the fold might have been the closest thing. There had been a lot of blood then, and a lot of dead people, though none more recently dead than she herself.
Rose blinked. She did not want to think on that overly long, so instead she pondered other things.
Tomorrow she would go east and look at the Hullack, tour the shrine, and end her evening in an Inn, to conclude it by meeting someone she thought might be entertaining. The Witch had been full of interesting ideas and Rose had listened, though in truth she didn't give much of a damn. If he were going to be the one, so be it. If someone else, that didn't bother her. But Rose liked knowing the faces of people who were liable to kill her.
Something about skulking in the shadows offended her, proving that Clarabella Banda had preserved a sense of humour when she ascended to godhood.
Prayer was how you got in contact with a god. Blood sacrifice worked better than prayers, and Rose's blood better than most. But Esolen had also had an interesting idea, and it had got Rose to thinking. That book sat on her bedside table, dog-eared by now with the intent study she had given it lately. The faith would need a new rally call, and she had the opportunity to find one, provided the Dread Queen could be cajoled to speak. With the Island sank, and the shrines weakened from the preparations demanded by Manzahar at the time, there were few enough places of power through which she could be reliably contacted, and they would need newer ones.
The plan she had begun to form on the shoreline when she had dragged her waterlogged, near-drowned arse out of the Wyvernwater had latched on to the things she had around her, what few things there were, and Rose trusted her gut instinct. It had rarely failed her before.
Rose knew what she needed. And she knew, if she weren't careful, it might come at a cost she might not be willing to pay.
The only way to know would be to try, and that thought left her colder than just her hands could account for.

Wow. Been awhile since I wrote in here. With the attack from Manzahar, I had not the time nor the inclination to even open this up. He is gone now, we defeated him. All the friends came together to end him. My Glade was untouched. More fey can now be Freed. Oh right. Since my last entry. I revived the glade. A lot of my blood is now in the glade. But it is healthy and well again. This time no evil tree stealing the freed souls.
Damion dumped me. broke my heart, but he was going crazy, so maybe for the best? Val is engaged now. Happy for her. Tom got her last name too. More happy times. Now if I can find someone, maybe one of the Satyrs? They are cute and have beautiful music. Wish I can see Poppy again, want to play with her. Maybe even teach me how to turn people into chickens.
The root on my Arm, it grew after I revived the Glade. Now bark is creeping up my arm. Not growing but its there now. Chris is trying to take over Tilverton. Don't really care. As long as I have my glade, maybe I will make a little hidden away home next to it? I need to do that.
Planning to save Jon from his tree. Also planing to take friends to meet my Queen. I want to meet her and pledge myself to her court.

The creation process of a singular Cold Iron Gauntlet meant to fit only Valeria on her left hand. Not show below but can be inferred via the yellow text is the creation of the Cold Iron Gauntlets via the forge.
First the blacksmith must get measurements and have a blueprint for what he is to refine.
Next the blacksmith compares the measurements to the raw Cold Iron Gauntlet.
With measurements and knowledge of how the gauntlet is to be shaped the blacksmith heads over to the anvil.
A quick prayer to Gond from the blacksmith is offered before the refinement process.
The refinement process requires the blacksmith to super heat the gauntlet, shape it, then temper it, and quench it. The blacksmith uses this process to reshape the gauntlet as if it were made of clay.
Finally the gauntlet is completed and our blacksmith must again be a Battlemage and shut down a certain Meat Market for lack of proper permits.